Tipping point in trying to figure out China
By Craig McIntosh (China Daily)
Updated: 2009-08-19 17:56
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Tip or don't tip? Whichever I choose, it's wrong.
When I lived in the United States, it was virtually the first thing they would tell you when you walked through the door.
"Hello, sir. Gratuity here is 12 percent. Can I take your coat?" some smarmy waiter would say.
"Take my coat? For 12 percent you can do my taxes!" I'd reply. I'd laugh also but my little joke was usually met with only confusion. There's no messing with tips in the US. It's strict.
In China, it's different. If I even mention the word "tip" here the server gives me a steely look that says: "Just try it, mister!"
My first bizarre tipping experience came when I was traveling in south China, long before I moved to Beijing. At the time, I would stop off in random places to "get off the beaten track" and test my Chinese language skills.
One such place was Chaozhou, a relatively small city in southern Guangdong. I'd only stayed one day and, before I boarded the afternoon bus to my next destination, I settled down for lunch in a Japanese restaurant.
The food was good and the waitresses had been kind in putting up with my poor Chinese for an hour or so, so I left 20 yuan as thanks.
One minute later, now outside and walking away from the restaurant, I heard an almighty commotion behind me. I thought maybe someone had robbed a bank and was being pursued by the cops, perhaps a thief had snatched an old lady's purse and was being hounded by a have-a-go hero.
No. I was the prey in this desperate pursuit. When the waitress caught me she shoved the 20-yuan note into my hand and simply said sorry.
"Wo gei nimen. I left it for the staff," I argued, but to no avail. She simply repeated her apology and disappeared down the street.
Some would have taken this as a lesson that to tip was to err. I saw it as a challenge.
I simply employed more stealth in my approach; hiding the cash under plates and bowls, and running for the first 500 m once outside to put a good distance between the staff and me.
It made me feel warm inside knowing I was beating the system. But the rush faded after a while and it just wasn't enough. I needed confrontation. So, during a recent trip to Qingdao, I brazenly left 20 yuan for all to see on the table of a pizzeria and walked out like nothing had happened. Cue the frantic waitress.
I refused to acknowledge her chasing me until she was right behind me. "You left this," she said. "Sorry but we can't accept it."
"But it's not mine," I said, with the most innocent look I could muster.
"Errrr but you were sitting at that table and it was there when you left. It must be yours. We can't take it."
"Nope, not mine. I've already got a 20 yuan note," I pulled one out of my pocket to show her. I turned to walk away, allowing myself to bask in the glow of my first real victory.
But I had counted my chickens too early. With the speed of a bullet, she slipped the note into the back pocket of my jeans and made off at a terrific pace. I could only applaud my wily opponent. "You've won this round, my girl, but I'll be back!" I yelled.
The following week I was back in Beijing, a broken man. Not quite ready for round two, I had ordered a pizza and was anxiously waiting when there was a knock at my door. The young motorbike rider handed me my pizza, I handed him the cash and we went our separate ways.
"Did you tip him?" asked my girlfriend as the first slice approached my lips.
"No," I said. "I had the exact change."
"You big meany," she blasted. "Always tip a delivery boy!"